


Skin Hunger

by lola381pce



Series: Imagine Clint Coulson Prompts [8]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Clint Barton, BAMF Phil Coulson, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Feels, Clint Needs a Hug, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, First Time, Getting Together, Hurt Clint Barton, Imagine ClintCoulson, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Phil Needs a Hug, Skin Hunger, Tumblr Prompt, Verbal Abuse (past)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 21:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10907478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce
Summary: For an Imagine Clint Coulson prompt by twangcat (Queen of Angst)Clint is convinced that no guy would want him if they knew how much he liked to cuddle so even after he gets together with Phil he tries really hard not to let it show how much he would like to cuddle after sexThanks for the great prompt, twangcat. Hope you like the fill.





	Skin Hunger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twangcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twangcat/gifts).



> We are always accepting new prompts at our tumblr account, so feel free to drop by with a little headcanon or ask.

_[Skin hunger](https://swissnavy.tumblr.com/post/157666020437/5-things-you-should-know-about-skin-hunger) \- the physical and psychological need for meaningful human touch._

 

Clint couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He didn’t bother waiting for the elevator, just ran down the stairs taking them a couple at a time until he reached the bottom. Panting slightly, he yanked his hoodie up over his head and set off for the subway and home.

He thought he’d covered it up okay or at least well enough not make Phil suspicious about his reasons for taking off. It had been so fucking hard to leave the warmth of Phil’s bed… of Phil. But he couldn’t stay. He didn’t want Mr Cool-as-fuck to find out about him. About his secret. About his shame.

Clint stopped suddenly and fell back against the wall to Phil’s apartment block. He slid down the brickwork into a crouch, ass near the sidewalk, thighs against his chest, gasping for breath almost to the point of hyperventilating. Dropping his forehead to his knees, he let out a strangled sob. What the fuck was wrong with him? How many times did he have to tell himself no guy would want him if they knew? His relationships didn’t last long as it was. If they ever found out about him, about what he wanted more than anything, they’d finish even quicker. They had finished even quicker. It’s why he kept it to himself now. God knows, it could still hurt but not as badly if no-one knew.

After a moment, breathing under control and thoroughly sickened with himself, he wiped his forearm across his face and pushed back to his feet. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and left without a backward glance.

Who the fuck would want a desperate, pathetic asshole who wants to _cuddle_ after sex? Even in his head he spits the word out. No-one. Why should Phil Coulson be any different?

***

The sex had been good. Actually it had been great. Hard and fast… and loud. Very loud. Just what they needed after such a shit mission. Oh it had been successful, meticulously planned by Coulson as always, but the content had been – sickening, and Clint needed to fight or fuck. Apparently so did Coulson.

The team had gone to a bar post debrief, well those that didn’t have families (and even some who did), and most of them were getting steadily shitfaced. Coulson was paying. He did that sometimes; when a mission was especially rough. Picked up the tab. Must cost him a small fortune cuz these guys knew how to put it away.

He’d separated himself from the rest after a few rounds opting to remain at the bar. He did that sometimes too. Not many people noticed. Fury and Hill, Sitwell maybe, a few others that knew him well.

And Clint. He noticed. Every time. But he usually let Coulson be, understanding the need to be around people but alone at the same time. But tonight was different. Coulson wasn’t just nursing a beer like he normally did. He was drinking mechanically, matching the others round for round but it didn’t seem to be having much effect. Clint knew from experience that was a bad sign.

Clint looked away to answer someone’s question and when he looked back, Coulson was gone. He was good at that. Making himself invisible, blending into the background. It was his gift, like a superpower. But he could also disappear like a fucking heli-carrier when he wanted to. However Clint was pretty sure he knew where to find him.

He slipped out the fire exit near the restrooms and sure enough, there he was leaning on his elbows against the handrail, smoking. He didn’t do it often (Clint had nearly passed out the first time he saw his handler with a cigarette between his lips - so unbelievably hot) just now and again when he was angry… and bitter… and hurting.

Clint reached out and plucked the cigarette from Coulson’s fingers taking a long draw before passing it back. Brave or foolhardy he wasn't sure which. He’d never approached him on these occasions before. Just checked where he was and that he was okay and gone back inside. Mostly because he reckoned Coulson could probably flatten him when he was in this sort of humour. But instead his handler growled, “Want to get out of here?”

Depressingly it’s how a lot of Clint’s pickups began. Especially the one nighters. He hadn’t figured Coulson as a one night stand kind a guy. But then he hadn’t figured Coulson would want him at all.

He shrugged trying to make it seem nonchalant. “Sure.”

But it didn’t happen. At least, not at first.

They’d walked. Down some shady alleyways to be sure (fight or fuck, remember?) but all respectable would-be muggers were tucked up in bed by this time. Disappointing. So Coulson had taken them to a hole in the wall that sold pizza by the slice. Fucking _amazing_ pizza by the slice.

They’d talked. Not about the mission. Not about anything really. Random stuff; dogs V cats, Super Nanny V Dog Cops, Man V Food. Just… talked.

And then Coulson had hailed a cab and taken them home. And they’d fucked. Hard and fast… and loud. Very loud. Clint reckoned Phil would probably have to apologise to his neighbours in the morning.

Clint had done the honours at Coulson’s request leaving them sweaty and exhausted and not without a few bruises but it was consensual and something they both needed. And now all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around him (or better still, have Coulson’s arms wrapped around _him_ ), breathe him in and fall asleep. Safe, secure and warm. But he didn’t. He got up to piss and pull his clothes back on.

Coulson watched him from the bed with a raised eyebrow and a half-smile that could mean anything. “Somewhere you need to be?”

Clint didn’t pause. Didn’t look at him either. “Yeah. Need to get home. Got stuff I gotta do in the morning.”

Coulson nodded. He’d managed to score the team a two day furlough so obviously it wasn’t work related. He pulled back the sheet and started to get up but Clint stopped him.

“Nah. Stay there, boss. No point you getting outta bed.” He paused at the door and ducked his head looking at Coulson from under his lashes. “It was good though. Right?”

His voice was uncertain but hopeful.

Coulson gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah… it was good.”

“Maybe… good enough to do it again?”

This time the smile came easier and was on the right side of freezing. “I’d like that.”

Clint nodded. “Night, Coulson.”

“Goodnight, Clint.”

He nearly went back at Coulson’s use of his first name. Nearly climbed back into bed with the other man to hug the life out of him but he kept his resolve and left for home.

He didn’t sleep that night.

***

It did happen again. Several times actually but not for a couple of weeks. Fate (or Fury) conspired against them keeping them apart.

Coulson’s leave lasted precisely seven hours after Clint left, at which point he’d received a call instructing him to report to Fury at the New York office ASAP. Apparently he’d been needed to take over an op which had turned into a clusterfuck within twenty-four hours of having begun; as tends to happen when an experienced handler dies suddenly during a milk run leaving a rookie in charge who manages to lose his shit and half his team in the process.

As Coulson touched down in one quinjet on the helicarrier five days later, sporting a new knife wound, a collection of cuts and bruises, and a painful limp, Clint had taken off in another heading to a mission in Dubai that was scheduled to last three days (it lasted seven thanks to some dodgy intel, a sandstorm and an uncooperative mark).

When they eventually did get together they more than made up for lost time with sex that was a combination of enthusiastic and imaginative, and tender and gentle leaving them breathless.

And lonely as fuck.

Each time, Clint would either roll to the edge of the bed as far away from Phil as he could, or get up and leave within an hour of screaming through an orgasm he thought this time was actually going to kill him. He trembled and shook while Phil gently stroked his sides and his ass and his thighs, helping him through it, whispering tender words of praise, pressing his lips against Clint’s burning skin.

When he got home to his cold, empty apartment he fell into his own bed and sobbed for another hour before falling asleep, exhausted and raw.

***

The time came when Phil finally had had enough, just like Clint knew he would. Didn’t stop it from hurting like a sonofabitch though.

He was going through his post-fuck ritual of taking a piss and quietly getting dressed, hoping that Phil had fallen asleep, when the light on the nightstand snapped on. He blinked in the glare a couple of times until his eyes adjusted to the brightness and stared down at Phil with a guilty expression at having been caught.

“You _can_ stay you know,” Phil told him, sitting up in the bed. The sight of that chest with its perfect covering of hair almost distracted him into doing just that.

“Nah, boss. I got stuff I…”

“… _gotta do in the morning_ ,” Phil finished for him, with a disappointed note to his voice.

Oops! He’d have to come up with some new excuses. Apparently that one was getting old. Besides, he’d stayed the night once before and it was awkward as hell with him on one side of the bed and Phil on the other. He’d woken up a few hours later having gravitated towards him sometime in his sleep and found himself with his nose pressed against Phil’s shoulder, his arm draped over his stomach. He lay there fighting off a panic attack terrified Phil would wake up and go ballistic. The second the opportunity presented itself, he pulled away and left without a word.

It had been so fucking perfect; the feel of him, the warmth of him, the smell of him.

Yeah, fucking perfect it may have been, but all it gave him was another night of pain and sleeplessness. And longing. A deep, desperate longing of being held in his lover’s arms. Cuddling into his embrace in a way he could never, _would_ never have.

Phil sighed, pulling Clint back to the present. He rested his back against the headboard, pinning Clint with those intense blue eyes of his - kinda awkward with his jeans halfway up his thighs and his dick hanging loose in the breeze.

“Have I done something wrong?” Phil asked him. His voice was calm as usual but there was something more behind it… hurt maybe?… and that was _anything_ but usual. His words were typical Coulson though; straight to the point, like a kick in the balls. Speaking of which, Clint hastily dragged his jeans up and tucked himself away. He didn’t want to hear the “it’s not you, it’s me” speech when he was so vulnerable.

Unable to speak without betraying his own hurt, he shook his head in the negative, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck in that self-conscious way of his.

Clint could convey so much with that simple gesture and Phil recognised what he meant by it immediately; he was uncomfortable and didn’t want to talk. Well fuck him!

“Okay, Clint. You win.” Clint felt his stomach lurch. He knew what came after than.

“If you want to keep doing this well, I guess that’s up to you but… I’m not sure I can anymore. I care for you too much for this to be a fuck and run. I’d hoped…” Phil paused dropping his gaze from Clint for a moment, centring himself. When he looked up again his jaw was set in a determined clench but his eyes were… sad. “The sex is incredible, Clint but… I need more than that. I'm a selfish fuck. I don’t do casual very well. I need contact aftewards; to touch and to hold. I know people are different and not everyone likes intimacy but… I do. I’m truly sorry you don’t. I guess I’d hoped…” He trailed off again, never actually saying what it was he hoped for.

As Phil spoke, Clint’s eyes just got wider. This couldn’t be right. He must have missed something somewhere. Badass motherfuckers like Phil Coulson didn’t do intimacy, didn’t do the touchy feely stuff, didn’t _cuddle_ \- all the things that he yearned for. But here he was confessing it all.

“If it’ll makes things easier, I’ll arrange a handler transfer in the morning. It’ll probably be best for us both. The last thing I want is for you to feel under any pressure because we’ve fucked.”

“No!” Clint blurted out, almost shouting in his haste to stop Phil from continuing with that line of thought. He took a deep, shuddering breath and added quietly. “It’s not what you think. Fuck! It’s the opposite to what you think.”

Phil raised an eyebrow and said dryly, “Really? Cuz… from where I’m sitting, it looks exactly what I think.”

Clint shook his head again. His voice was low but vehement. “What you said, the things you need… I’ve never… I want that. I’ve _always_ wanted that. I’ve just never had it. Anytime I tried…”

He broke off and gave a small, bitter laugh remembering some of the words that had been hurled at him in the past: “ _Shit! If I’d wanted ta hug after I’d’a fucked a chick_ ”; “I _wanted a fuck, not a relationship_ ”; “ _Jesus! Not interested in that shit, man. Go sleep on the fuckin’ couch if you’re stayin_ ’”.

“Well let’s just say it didn’t go too well. So I stopped looking for it. I gave up wanting it. Aside from one failed marriage,” (both of them smiled at that), “relationships became casual and one-night stands… I dunno, became normal I guess. That first night between us, I thought that’s what you were looking for as well but it was so…”

“Good?” Phil suggested after a moment, using Clint’s word from that night. A tiny smirk curled up the corner of his mouth.

Clint snorted out a short laugh. Yeah. Good. That was the word he used. Phil’s was better though.

“… incredible. I couldn’t give it up. Give you up. I thought maybe if I just kept it casual. Didn’t ask you for anything. Didn’t touch you afterwards then maybe… maybe…”

It was Clint’s turn to trail off.

Phil sighed again. Clint ducked his head and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He’d blown it. From not giving a fuck to being a needy bitch in the space of a couple of minutes. Fuck. He just couldn’t catch a break.

“As sexy as you look like that, why don’t you get out of those jeans and come back to bed, Clint. Let me hold you. Fall asleep with me like that. Wake up with me in the morning.”

Clint tilted his head to look at him, not believing he’d been given another chance, and when he spoke his voice was very small. “I’d like that.”

“Then come back to bed,” Phil repeated gently, holding the sheet up. Within seconds Clint joined him, allowing Phil to wrap his arms around him and tug him closer so that there was barely a gap between them. Clint almost sobbed from the joy of it. All these years, this is what it felt like. The warmth of someone else’s body against your own; the touch of their skin against yours. It was intoxicating, making Clint feel light-headed. And emotional as fuck.

“This will be the first and last time I ever say this about you, Clint Barton, but… you’re a fucking idiot,” Phil murmured against his hair, tightening his arms around holding him close. “And so am I. Sleep now. I’ve got you and… I’m not letting you go. Not until you tell me too.”

Clint swallowed back a whimper. He gripped Phil’s forearm with both of his hands, holding onto him as though their contact was the only thing in this world keeping him anchored to it. Slowly his body relaxed, melting against Phil’s as he finally began to fall into a deep and exhausted sleep, his skin hunger finally sated. 

***

Why should Coulson be any different? Because he was… that’s why.


End file.
